


on blood moons

by MsSweetSerialKiller



Category: The Originals (TV)
Genre: F/M, Wolves, dead witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-25
Updated: 2014-11-25
Packaged: 2018-02-27 00:42:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2672534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsSweetSerialKiller/pseuds/MsSweetSerialKiller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And it lays on the side forgotten, having never really lived but still been born.</p>
            </blockquote>





	on blood moons

**Author's Note:**

> 3 controlled assessment, 19 exams in the next two weeks, and what does she do, revise? Nahh...she decides it's the best time to get back into writing.

  _the wolves run at night, in the woods, bloodthirsty,_

With each blood written city, with each blood ridden corpse and with each appraising look Klaus gives her, the more she falls in love. Perhaps the real tragedy is not the loss of her daughter, her barely born beautiful daughter but the loss of her want for family. Or her want for Elijah’s looks of affections, his gentle eyes and his hands holding hers. Nowadays, she seeks the pleasures of screaming witches, the look of their beautiful dead ridden corpses, and the echoes of their shrill agonizing screams for mercy.

_and the witches scamper, afraid._

Each one tastes the same; it doesn’t taste of forgotten days or remembered days or days to come. It tastes of metal, and the taste never leaves her mouth. Because she doesn’t want it to stop. She wants more, she wants it in magnitudes, and she wants every single god damn self-righteous witch dead. Each snapped neck makes a sound, _click click click_. Each witch lets out a parting spell, a final prayer, at least she thinks so, she doesn’t really care, whatever it is. Her daughter’s dead and she’s immortal, what else is there to care for? _Click_. It’s a beautiful sound. By the time she’s painted the city in blood, she’s famished again. Klaus merely smiles sardonically, and moves her along to the next.

_as powerful as the wolves are however, they are still eternally alone._

One day, when she’s slaughtered the last witch, _well slaughtered seems like too kind of a word love_ Klaus tells her, _butchered seems more appropriate_ , he says it like he enjoys her, enjoys watching her, enjoys talking to her, enjoys the vengeful monster she’s become. And she thinks it’s a far cry from when they first met, when she wishes to crush every bone in his body, for Tyler, _not because she wants to hear ever bone in his body click and hear his agonizing scream, to hear him call her his queen because she wants to know how it feels like to be needed_. And she realises she enjoys him, his refusal to ask her why, because he understands unlike Elijah who just threw her pitying glances, she enjoys his carful smirk, his proud smirk, the one he wears when he forces her to dance with him every time they pass through a town in a 50s diner. And she acts like she doesn’t care, like she could live without his hand on her waistline, eyes gazing deep into her as if she is magnificent or the way he gently uses his hand to concur her face to face his, so she’s staring into his intent eyes again. And sometimes, just sometimes she feels like she’s not alone, like she’s not the only one that’s lost her daughter. In those days, she’s given comfort and she wonders why _Elijah’s the better brother_ , because he doesn’t make her feel like the way Klaus makes her feel.

_on blood moons, miracles occur,_

The next town they murder, they murder together. For the first time she sees Klaus tear open a witch, heart left in his hand as she falls flat on the floor. She sees a new smirk, only it’s not a smirk, it’s a smile. And guess what miracles do occur because she smiles too. And she kisses him, tangible taste of blood and all, blood soaked hands and all, shredded clothes and all. And it’s a miracle because it’s the first time that she’s felt someone beside anger and revenge; it’s the first times she’s felt alive and makes her reach for more. Later Klaus would wonder why the witch didn’t let out one last profanity, one last prayer before her imminent death like the others but Hayley’s first sigh of peace, the first night without a nightmare in months, her head on his chest forces the thought out of his head. And it lays on the side forgotten, having never really lived but still been born.

_but it’s the dawning of the end of times as well._

She’s never asked him to show her the world because he owed her that, at least. Besides she didn’t live for art, and her head wasn’t filed with pretentious thoughts or daydreams of a normal high school life. It was filled with the blood of witches, an overflowing wine glass, the finest Persian rug she’d lay the corpses across and anger. And one day, it’s her body that’s fallen back onto the rug, and it’s her that can’t get up. Klaus runs forwards bewildered as she throws up blood and she doesn’t understand. How? She’s immortal, she can’t be harmed and then it hits her and Klaus, magic. She still chokes, her head is still in his lap, he’s still staring at her only now she sees tears in his eyes and she feels one slip down her cheek too because no matter how many horrible things Klaus has done, he’s been the one taking care of her for the past two years, he’s the one who’d cheer her up with a dance, he’s the one she thought of last in the night and the first thing she saw in the morning. The sharp pain in her abdomen pulls he out, she groans, is this what dying feels like, was she dying? Was this it? Was this all she got? _A dead daughter_. She hears Klaus’ screams of no, don’t close your eyes, she can feel him shaking her head begging for her to hold on and remembers this scene before, bleeding out in his arms at the altar, only then if hadn’t hurt them both as much. Because then she hadn’t known that he took his coffee black and that his favourite museum wasn’t the Le Louvre like assumed or that his favourite colour was actually blue, she hadn’t known that he loved her and he hadn’t known that she went for neck because she could still feel the sharpness of the cool blade tearing open her neck, or that she liked to watch them bleed out because they never bothered to do so with her. He hadn’t know back then that she lived for the rare days he smiled or talked about what he felt their daughter would have been like. She opens her eyes, for a little while not long enough but long enough so that she could say I love you, like she should have a million times before. Then the world goes black so that the last thing she hears is Klaus’ final cry of _little wolf_.

  _the wolf runs at night, in the woods, bloodthirsty._

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [Tumblr.](http://mssweetserialkiller.tumblr.com/)  
> Check out my [ side blog.](http://adorablexswift.tumblr.com/)


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